


Five Times Phil Coulson Saved Them

by red_b_rackham



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5 + 1, Actionish, Angst, BAMF, Gen, General Phil Badassery, Humor, In Which Phil Gets To Finally Show Off Like We All Know He Can, Moderate Post-Torture Graphic Descriptions, Moderate language, Whump, five times fic, gen - Freeform, team fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/pseuds/red_b_rackham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the team members need help. This is five times Phil Coulson saved them ... and one time they saved him. </p><p> <i>(T for moderate language, mentions of torture and injury.)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this plot bunny _so_ long ago, and finally have it complete and hammered out. Major thanks to inkspire for idea-rolling with me and editing the first several drafts of a few of these chapters. Also major thanks to all the lovelies over at The Beta Branch for checking over every chapter and smoothing out the rough bits. You guys are the best! :D Any remaining mistakes are all me.
> 
> This fic is pretty much a love letter to Phil being awesome. I figure we can never have enough of that!

_I. Fury & Hill_

Phil is tired. He has been on four back-to-back missions, out of the country, been shot at, nearly stabbed, and has had to jump from a burning building into a freezing river below. He hasn’t slept in nearly 26 hours – he’s gone longer before without sleep, but he doesn’t prefer to – and he is just settling down in the break room at SHIELD for a small bowl of vanilla ice cream.

It’s inevitable, he supposes, that he would be disturbed with some new crisis, especially since Fury and Hill are off coordinating an offensive mission at a smaller SHIELD base in Peru.

“Agent Coulson, sir,” an officer comes running into the break room, out of breath, eyes wide with worry. “It’s Peru.”

Phil looks down at the bowl before him with a pang of disappointment. It will have to wait.

 

* * *

 

The base where Fury, Hill, and a small number of other agents are located has been attacked. Apparently the drug cartel which SHIELD had been working to take down managed to get their hands on information relating to the base’s whereabouts. Following what apparently was a fairly impressive and convincing decoy situation, which drew more than half of the agents and Fury out of the base, they were taken by surprise and assailed from all directions.

According to the briefing packet Phil has been given by one of the senior officers on his way to the jet, they are fairly certain that both Hill and Fury are still alive. They estimate at least a dozen agents are alive as well, though they are all pinned down in different areas in the compound. Communications are down, and satellites are being repositioned to get an aerial view of the battle ground. Coulson instructs that reinforcements be scrambled together immediately – there is no time to wait for them, however; he is going right now.

At the airport, Coulson transfers to a heavily weaponized military helicopter and the pilot promptly takes him to ground zero. As the vehicle lands and Coulson disembarks, the pilot warns of an impending storm. The sooner they can get out, the better.

When he locates Hill, she and two other agents are holding their own in one of the shelled out rooms of the base. He lobs a grenade at the ring of enemies surrounding the doorway, effectively eliminating them and clearing his path, then makes his way through the smoke to Hill and others. She is all scraped up, a few bullet grazes sloppily bandaged on her shoulder. Her uniform is spattered with blood, though it isn’t clear if it’s hers or not.

“Thought you were in Moscow,” she says breathlessly when she realizes the man in the suit casually walking towards her barricade is Agent Coulson.

“Got back early.” He joins her, crouching out of sight from their enemies.

“Couldn’t resist getting shot at some more, could you?”

“You know me so well.”

Coulson stands and aims his two guns to the left and right, letting loose several rounds of fire that spray through smoldering window-sized holes. He glances down at Hill, who is taking a moment to reload.

“Ready to go?” he asks pleasantly.

“Absolutely.”

“Then come with me, please.”

Coulson leads the way, followed by the two other agents. One is limping and weaponless. Hill brings up the rear, covering their backs. They shoot their way out of the debris strewn room, through the hole a bomb had made hours earlier. He swiftly leads them to the helicopter he arrived in and begins helping them board it.

“Go,” says Hill. “I got this. Get Fury.”

Coulson gives her a nod, and takes off at a run, reloading his guns as he goes. Thunder rumbles threateningly overhead and it starts pouring rain. He increases his speed, feet pounding across the ground, weaving between the buildings on the compound towards the sound of gunfire. Once he finds where Fury is pinned down, he first lays down some cover fire, and after some creative dodging, sliding, and darting, he reaches his superior.

“Agent Coulson,” Fury greets as if nothing is wrong. They both duck instinctively as something explodes far to the left.

“Boss,” Phil nods in response. He notes that the director has been shot in the arm. Trails of blood cover his leather jacket, mixing with the rain.

“Nice weather we’re having,” Fury says and winces, his face drawn tight with pain.

The pair are completely drenched as the rain comes down like a waterfall. Phil peeks over the low wall where they are hiding to discern where the enemy is, and makes speedy calculations in his head.

“Sir,” he starts mildly, facing Fury. He pulls off his tie and with deft fingers, composes it into a temporary bandage on the director’s wound. “I left a bowl of ice cream for this.”

“I’ll get you as much as you want,” says Fury through gritted teeth as pain shoots through his arm. “If you get us the _hell_ out of here.”

Bullets rip across the wall above them, showering them with wet chunks of plaster. Phil rises from his crouched position and fires off a number of shots, hitting several enemies and injuring a few more. For the remaining hostiles still standing, Coulson tosses a small grenade their way, then ducks behind the wall briefly as it goes off.

While the smoke, fire and rain fight and tangle in the air, Coulson and Fury jump to their feet and sprint across the uneven ground, leaping over debris. In the distance, the SHIELD reinforcements are arriving and landing, teams of agents fanning out across the ground. When they spot the pair approaching rapidly, they hurry forward to help and cover them as the remaining enemies come out of hiding to converge.

Fury throws himself into the nearest helicopter and Coulson hops in after him.

“Take us out of here!” the agent commands at once – the team can handle the rest while he makes sure the director receives medical attention.

“Hill?” pants Fury.

“Safe,” replies Coulson.

The director nods and leans his head back in his seat. He stays like that, his eye closed, his breath returning to normal, until they reach the airport. Coulson transfers them to the jet, where Hill and a handful of surviving agents are already waiting and getting cleaned up. Fury settles down beside them and moments later, the jet is airborne.

Phil had seated himself towards the back of the plane to give ample room for the SHIELD medics to take care of the others. With fresh bandages on his cleaned and stitched arm, Fury heads over and takes a seat beside the agent.

“The teams you sent in are now in control of the situation, and rescued several more agents that hadn’t been killed,” he says. “Good job, Agent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And Agent?”

“Yes sir?”

“We’ve got a few hours until we get back to base. Get some sleep.” Fury tilts his head down and adds, “That’s an order.”

Phil suppresses a smile. “Yes sir.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or, "Two Geniuses Walk Into Lab".

_II. Tony & Bruce_            

When the elevator doors open to the eighty-fifth floor of Stark Tower, Pepper looks up from the spread of papers on the table before her and smiles. Phil disembarks the elevator, which closes with a dull click behind him.

“Phil!” Pepper greets, standing. Her hair is pinned up neatly and as always, she is impeccably dressed. “I didn’t know you were coming by today. Tony’s up a couple floors with Bruce, in one of the labs.”

“Actually,” Phil returns her smile as he approaches. “I’m not here to see Mr. Stark.” He holds up a small gift bag, complete with white tissue paper. She is a touch surprised and confused, but she’s good at covering it. “I stopped by to give you your birthday present.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Pepper says, waving her hand at him. He does, though: firstly because she got _him_ a birthday present three months ago, and secondly simply because they have become friends.

She adds, “My birthday’s not for another week. Tony wants to have a party – which you are of course invited to.”

“Thank you,” Phil replies, then shrugs. “I just got back from Rio, and I’m shipping out to New Delhi on a recon mission tonight, which could take more than a week. I figured early was better than late. I might not make it to that party.”

“That’s too bad – we’ll miss you there.” Pepper takes the bag from Phil. “Thank you, Phil, this is sweet. I used to have to buy my own birthday gifts from Tony. He gets them himself now, although I’m pretty sure Jarvis – ”

Pepper is interrupted by an incredible, thunderous noise that rocks the entire building. The windows and walls rattle and shudder, and Pepper shrieks. Coulson instinctively covers her body with his and has his gun drawn before the explosive noise has finished. It’s clear it came from above – perhaps from the lab containing two scientific geniuses.

Coulson takes off running full tilt, yelling over his shoulder for Pepper to _stay there_. As he is taking the stairs two at a time however, he can hear the rapid clacking of her high-heels trailing behind him. She frantically calls Tony’s name.

 

* * *

  

Parts of the lab are on fire and circuits are sparking all over. Tony’s ears are ringing, his vision blurry as he struggles to come to. He realizes that he is buried under pieces of wall and ceiling, completely pinned down.

_I guess it doesn’t like heat_ , he thinks, remembering moments before when he and Bruce had been experimenting with a strange, malleable alien substance.

He shifts a little and is disconcerted to find he can barely move. The debris is pressing heavily on him and though he’s hardly claustrophobic, the pressure on him is extremely worrisome. There’s a stabbing pain in his leg and Tony winces.

“Bruce? You alive?”

Somewhere to his right, he both feels and hears an ominous rumble. There is a tiny moment of relief that Bruce is okay. Tony thinks that once his friend changes into the Hulk, the green guy will be able to remove the wreckage from Tony and get him out of here. It’s hard enough to breathe that he doesn’t exactly want to wait around for the fire department to show up and free him (besides, he’s fairly certain they’ve stopped coming unless Pepper specifically calls them. Between his experiments, his super-human housemates, and various alien encounters, it’s usually safer for emergency services to stay away. Plus, Tony has Jarvis).

The relief is extremely short-lived, however. As Bruce’s growls increase in volume, the rubble presses harder into Tony. A sharp pain shoots through his chest as Jarvis’ voice comes crackling through damaged speakers, an unmistakable tone of panic in his automated voice.

“ _Sir – Dr. Banner changes – fully – will be crushed – structural integrity –_ ”

“I’m aware!” Tony chokes out and hastily shouts for Bruce. “Stop! Bruce – you have to – _augh! Stop!_ Debris – killing me – ”

The rumbling slows down, quiets a little, and Tony can hear strained growls now. He tries to move and ease the pressure on his legs, chest, and arms, but can only wiggle his fingers. He forcibly ignores the fear clawing at his insides.

“ _Agent Coulson_ – _on his way –_ ” Jarvis adds, cutting in and out.

Tony gasps, “Tell him to fucking _hurry_!”

 

* * *

 

  _“Agent Coulson, the electronic fire response system has been severely damaged,_ ” Jarvis reports as Phil pounds up the stairs _. “There is no way I can put out the fires in the lab. Mr. Stark is buried in the wreckage; Dr. Banner is changing his form and will crush Mr. Stark if he is not removed at once.”_

“Copy.” Coulson yanks open the door to the level where Tony and Bruce were working. Immediately he spots clouds of smoke billowing down the corridor. He hears yelling and darts forward.

“Mr. Stark?” he calls. “Dr. Banner?”

“Here!” comes Tony’s strangled cry.

As Phil enters the blackened, debris strewn lab, he sees the problem at once. Or rather, _all_ the problems. Fire is licking at who-knows-what chemicals spilled here and there. The floor is covered with broken glass from containers no longer on tables and shelves. Frayed wires, damaged panels, and fried circuits are snapping and sparking. Smoke clouds the room like fog. Banner is half-buried with chunks of wall and is groaning, turning green, and visibly struggling. Stark is somewhere in the debris, muffled and gasping for Banner to stop.

Phil has a split second to decide what to do about it all.

“Mr. Stark,” he greets the pile of rubble and quickly grasps the nearest chunk, using all his strength to shift the wreckage. There’s no time to worry about the fires if the moaning from Banner is any indication of how close he is to losing control.

Pepper is panting behind Phil a second later. Though she cries out and sounds panicked as she shouts again for Tony, she doesn’t hesitate, bending down to help Phil at once with shaking hands.

She eyes Bruce fearfully, who is vibrating, every muscle taut and rippling with shades of green. It seems like it is taking a massive amount of effort to hold back, but so far he’s doing it. Coulson has no idea how Banner is managing it, but he has no time to worry about it. He hopes Banner can hold the Other Guy back until he and Pepper can pull Tony to safety.

“Tony, what happened?” Pepper whimpers, pleading and scared. “Oh my God, Tony…”

“I guess – ” Tony wheezes, pale and sweating. “Shouldn’t mess – certain – alien tech – ”

Coulson internally rolls his eyes. Count on two super scientists to blow up the lab playing with untested, unknown alien materials. Fury will hit the roof when he finds out.

The smoke is making Phil’s eyes water and causes him and Pepper to cough, but they don’t stop pulling, pushing, digging and dragging. Banner’s groan grows louder and Coulson knows they have precious seconds left. The scientist can’t hold on forever.

_It’s actually a miracle we’ve had this long,_ Coulson thinks. _Just a bit longer, Banner, c’mon…_

Tony suddenly exhales in relief. “I can breathe,” he exclaims. “Oh, thank God.” He immediately chokes and coughs on the thickening smoke in the air. The fire is spreading.

A small explosion erupts from the far side of the room, and Pepper cries out as the heat of it rushes at them and dissipates just as quickly.

“Go!” Coulson orders her, pointing at the door – well, the gaping area where the door and wall used to be. She glances down at the agent and Tony, who is still buried to his waist. Coulson shoots her a glare and shouts at her to get downstairs as fast as she can, _now_. She doesn’t move until Tony firmly echoes the sentiment.

Banner roars.

Coulson jams his hands under Stark’s armpits and pulls.

Something else explodes, sending glass shards flying across the lab. Tony hollers in pain, Phil yanks harder, and finally Stark is free. The pair leap over the debris, Phil doing his best to support Tony who limps and grits his teeth, hissing with every other step. There is an incredible smashing noise behind them and they throw themselves into the stairwell, narrowly missing being decapitated by flying pieces of wreckage as the Hulk tears the lab apart.

 

* * *

 

The cuts on Phil’s face are patched up, and the SHIELD medical team that Hill dispatched to Stark Tower are packing up their things. The containment team are still ensuring the building is structurally safe to re-enter and is fire free, while Dr. Banner is recovering in an ambulance. After the Hulk destroyed the entire floor, he had jumped off the eighty-seventh floor, awaking moments later as the good doctor in a crater by the front door.

Pepper insisted (despite cuts, scrapes, minor burns and a twisted ankle) on going back into the building to get some clothes for Bruce, though thankfully the SHIELD teams had shown up about then to take over the situation, and Phil was able to convince her to sit down and put on an oxygen mask.

Banner, covered with a blanket from the medics, was shame-faced and couldn’t stop apologizing. Tony cut him off repeatedly, assuring his friend that it wasn’t his fault.

“I was the one who wanted to see what would happen with that stuff,” he said, ignoring a sharp look from Pepper. “Besides, that was my least favorite lab anyway.”

The medics then wheeled him one way to get stitched up, and Bruce to the other to recover.

Tony’s right leg is bandaged up tight, as are his ribs and shoulder. Though it could have been far worse, the genius still has more injuries than Phil was hoping: a few cracked and bruised ribs, a hairline fracture in his shin, broken toes on his right foot, a dislocated shoulder, and a concussion. He can’t help thinking how unmanageable Stark will be after a couple days of being cooped up and healing.

Thank God he is flying to India tonight.

As Phil approaches Pepper and Tony, one is standing with her arms crossed while the other is seated on the edge of the SHIELD ambulance with his leg propped up. He can hear them arguing, increasing in volume as he nears.

“If it was untested, why did you feel that _you_ needed to test it?” Pepper snaps heatedly.

“Do you know me at all?” Tony shoots back. “Besides, Bruce was there – ”

“Well, then why didn’t he stop you?”

“We didn’t think it was going to blow up.”

“You’re _geniuses!_ ”

Phil politely clears his throat.

Tony ignores the agent and rolls his eyes. “Pepper, it _was_ unstable. We don’t know _every_ little thing– ”

“Yes! You do! That’s what genius means!” Pepper throws her hands up in exasperation. “You’re always telling me to trust you because you know what you’re doing – ”

“Okay, so I made one mistake.”

“You told me you’d been _asked_ to work on it.”

“If I may – ” Phil tries, but neither of the pair seem to hear him.

“That might not be entirely – ”

“For God’s sake, Tony, you could have _died_!”

Tony huffs, irritated and sore. “I did once, you know, and you weren’t so worried about it then.”

“No, don’t you dare, Tony,” Pepper warns. “We’re not – ”

“And I called, but you couldn’t pick up the damn phone.”

“We’re not doing this again. We are _not_ doing this again!”

Phil takes that as his cue that this argument is not stopping any time soon, and steps away from the pair. He needs to brief Fury on why he needed a few dozen SHIELD personnel dispatched to Stark Tower in the middle of a – until now – quiet Sunday afternoon, though he suspects the director will hardly be surprised to hear Stark blew something up.

Again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is much longer than the first two, but it will all make sense in the end. ;) This is the plot bunny that started this whole thing. Also, more thank you's to inkspire, and the Beta Branch peeps (Cariadne in particular) for their wonderful editing eyes!!
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos!! <3

_III. Thor_

It’s late and Coulson is working on some paperwork in a quiet, otherwise empty office on the docked helicarrier. Agent Barton walks past, does a double take, then backs up. He enters the room, arms full of beer and soda bottles.

“Coulson? What are you doing here so late?”

Phil smiles. “I’m not here late, I’m just always here.”

“Don’t you ever go home?”

“Occasionally. Usually there’s not enough time in between each crisis for that.”

“Well, any world-threatening crises on the agenda tonight?” Clint holds up the bottles he’s carrying. “It’s pizza night. We ran out of drinks, so Cap went out and got ice while I got more soda. You should join us.”

“I don’t want to intrude...”

“You won’t be. I don’t know what kind of pizza you like, but we have all kinds.”

“If you insist.” Phil agrees and Clint grins.

“If you’re brave, you can try a slice of the wacky specialty pizza Bruce orders – if he hasn’t eaten the whole thing already.”

Phil follows Clint down the hall to the large room where the rest of the team is already settled in, chatting and laughing and having a good time. They greet him; Thor with a booming “Son of Coul!”, Natasha nodding with a smile, Tony with a casual salute. Phil smiles in return and sits in the empty spot next to Bruce, across from Thor. Clint puts some of the beer and soda bottles in the cooler and sets the rest on the table amongst the array of pizza boxes.

Tony grabs one of the empty plastic bottles and tries to throw it across the room into the recycling bin, but it bounces off the edge.

“Ooo,” he hisses, making a fist. “Rim shot.”

Steve, sitting on the other side of Bruce, picks up one of the other empties and gives it a toss – and it lands squarely in the bin.

“Show off,” Tony grumbles when the captain shoots him a smirk.

Phil helps himself to a slice of pepperoni and pours himself a cup of Coke, pleased with team dynamic surrounding him. Bruce is munching on the last slice of his special pizza, which he apparently _had_ eaten entirely himself.

“The Other Guy kind of influences my appetite,” he says sheepishly when he catches Coulson’s glance.

Phil nods serenely. This is in his file, of course. “Are those… lime slices? And sardines?”

Bruce nods as well. “Yeah, I get weird cravings sometimes.”

“It’s ‘cause he’s pregnant!” Tony calls from across the table.

“Ha ha,” Bruce deadpans drily.

“Last week? He wanted Skittles and bacon with his steak.” Clint raises an eyebrow. He reaches over and helps himself to Natasha’s discarded anchovies, piling them on his plate.

Bruce shrugs.

“To each his own.” Phil says mildly. The scientist gives him a small smile.

Steve cracks open new bottles of Dr. Pepper and 7-Up, and passes them around. Tony and Bruce begin discussing in-depth science, so Phil turns his attention to Clint struggling to explain the purpose of the Kardashian family to Steve and Thor. Natasha listens with amusement, absently making lines on her empty cup with her nails.

“I just don’t understand _why_ they’re so famous,” Steve shakes his head. “If they’re not movie stars – ”

“And have committed no feats of bravery to earn respect and honor,” Thor adds.

“Then why does everyone know who they are? There’s pictures of them _everywhere_.”

"They just – they’re on TV,” Clint shrugs helplessly, wondering how it is _his_ task to try and explain the concept of reality TV to the other two. “They’re reality stars. That’s kind of what happens nowadays. People live out their life’s drama on television and then they become famous.”

“But _why_?” Steve scrunches his brow, still confused.

Clint looks pleadingly to Natasha for help.

She swishes her head back and forth. “Uh-uh, don’t look at me. You’re on your own with this one.”

Phil smirks into his soda.

“Your planet is exceedingly confusing at times,” Thor shakes his head. He fills his cup with Dr. Pepper and proceeds to knock nearly all of it down in one gulp.

“You’re telling me.” Clint rolls his eyes.

Abruptly, Thor starts coughing hard. Steve frowns, thumping him on the back. “Hey, you okay? Drink too fast?”

The color drains from the god’s face, and although he seems to have recovered his breath, he now looks like he is about to throw up. Clint leans a little closer to Natasha, concerned, eyeing Thor warily.

“Thor?” says Bruce.

All at once, the god’s eyes roll back in his head and he tips sideways out of his chair. Clint tries to reach out to catch him but fails, and Thor lands with a tremendous _crash_ on the floor.

“Thor!” Steve shouts.

The rest of the team are on their feet immediately, though Steve is the first to reach the downed god. Phil’s hand flies instinctually to the radio on his belt, ready to switch it on and call for SHIELD medics.

Thor’s eyes flutter open. “What happened?” he asks.

“We were about to ask you that,” says Clint, picking himself up off the floor.

Steve helps Thor to stand. “Are you all right?”

“I believe so. Something strange occurred – did no one else experience it?”

“Just you,” Natasha confirms.

“Maybe you should sit back down?” Phil suggests.

Thor ignores him, frowning. He flexes his hands and fingers, and the frown deepens.

“What is it?” Steve questions.

“Something is wrong.” Thor extends his arm and everyone is alert at once, knowing Thor is calling Mjolnir. Coulson shifts in his seat, ready to leap out of it at a moment’s notice. He’s had a couple close calls with the hammer already, he certainly would prefer if those were the only ones. After several seconds with nothing happening, the team exchanges uneasy glances.

Thor growls, straining, and after another second or two, he bursts out, “I cannot summon Mjolnir.”

This has never happened before, and the others are more than a little stunned. The stormy look on Thor’s face forcibly reminds Phil of the first time he met the god, at the SHIELD facility they built around the hammer.

“I do not _understand_ ,” Thor bellows, his temper rising.

“You might be really tired. Or maybe you’re getting sick.” Natasha says carefully, standing on Thor’s other side.

“Do they have sickness – colds, flus, that kind of thing – in Asgard?” asks Bruce.

“I do not fall ill!” the god yells.

“Maybe you should lie down anyway,” Steve suggests, placing his hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“I do not _need_ to _lie down!_ I need to – ” He angrily shrugs off the captain’s hand – or, more properly, _tries_ to. They expect Steve to be sent stumbling back a little at the motion, but to their astonishment, he doesn’t move. Thor turns and attempts to shove Steve, but the god suddenly seems to have no strength whatsoever. The captain merely watches Thor’s hands pressing on his chest, clearly feeling no pressure at all.

 _This would be almost funny if it wasn’t so scary,_ Phil thinks uneasily.

Tony frowns. He glances critically around the room, his eyes darting and calculating. Thor looks down at his hands in shock and tries to lift the chair he previously had fallen out of, and _struggles_.

“What the hell…?” Clint whispers.

“That’s new.” Phil raises his eyebrows.

“It was the Dr. Pepper,” Tony suddenly pipes up.

“What?” Natasha says and the others turn their attention to Tony.

“It couldn’t be,” Steve shakes his head. “We’ve all been drinking it, none of us have been poisoned.”

“I didn’t say he was _poisoned_ , I said it was the Dr. Pepper. That’s what caused him to lose his powers.”

“How do you figure?” asks Phil.

“No one else collapsed, so whatever it was, it only affected Thor. He’s been eating the pizza all night, and he’s had it before with no ill effect. That leaves the drinks.”

Bruce nods along, caught up with Tony. He turns to Thor. “You haven’t had Dr. Pepper before, have you?”

Thor shakes his head. “I do not believe so.”

“But you’ve tried the other flavors, and never had this problem?”

“No.”

“He threw back a whole cup full and then went down right after it.” Tony finishes.

“Wait, so you’re saying several gulps of _soda_ turned the demigod into a wimp?” Clint narrows his eyes, crosses his arms over his chest.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Tony confirms. “It’s his Kryptonite.”

“My what?” Thor’s brow crinkles in confusion.

“God, you seriously need to watch some superhero movies soon.” Tony rolls his eyes.

“Superman is a fictional super hero,” Bruce explains. “He was invincible, except when this substance from his home planet was around – then he would lose his powers. It looks like, for whatever reason, the same happens to you when you drink Dr. Pepper.”

Tony is grinning now, wide and unabashed, struggling not to laugh.

“Why didn’t it happen when he drank the other drinks?” Steve questions, gesturing to the Coke, 7-Up, and various other soda bottles on the messy table.

Phil frowns and eyes the drinks suspiciously.

“There must be an ingredient in Dr. Pepper that the others don’t have,” says Bruce. “Or it might just be the magical combination of ingredients in that specific soda.”

Tony can’t contain his laughter anymore. “Seriously, _Dr. Pepper._ A cup of carbonation and down goes the demigod. Oh, I wish we’d have known this when Loki was trying to take over the planet. I would’ve offered him _that_ drink!”

“If it works on Loki the same way, that is,” Natasha points out.

“Dr. Pepper.” Tony laughs, and Clint can’t help but chuckle as well. “God, this is damn funny.”

“This isn’t funny,” Steve cuts in. “It’s very far from being funny. Half a cup of soda and the guy who levels _buildings_ can’t lift a _chair_. What if this gets out?”

“Right, because someone is going to force feed him Dr. Pepper in the middle of battle.” Tony snorts.

“I’m serious, Tony, this can _not_ get out. If people find out of about it, it’s only a matter of time before his weakness is exploited.”

“C’mon Cap, untwist your knickers.” Tony waves his hand dismissively. “No one here is going to run their mouth off about how the immortal god becomes a pathetic weakling if he ingests too much of a soft drink, all right? Relax.”

Clint nods in agreement. “What happens at pizza night, stays at pizza night.” He grins at Natasha who ignores him, though her lips twitch despite herself.

Privately, Phil agrees with Steve’s concerns. He knows none of them would knowingly betray the secret, but he still makes a mental note to plan for possible scenarios anyway.

In the meantime, they just have to keep Thor away from Dr. Pepper.

The team stays with Thor for the remainder of the evening, as his strength slowly comes back to him. Tony entertains himself by lobbing wads of balled up paper at the god, secure in the knowledge that Thor is currently unable to retaliate.

“He’s going to get his strength back eventually, you know,” Steve points out after another piece bounces off Thor’s forehead. The god glares at Tony with irritation while Steve smiles wryly and Clint tries not to laugh. Phil and Bruce exchange amused glances despite themselves.

“I know,” Tony smirks, tossing another paper ball.

“Would it kill you to stop acting like a child for five minutes?” Natasha raises an eyebrow. Tony throws a ball of paper in her direction as a reply, which she easily dodges.

Bruce grabs a bottle of water from the cooler and passes it to Thor. “You should try drinking some water. It should help flush your system. I’d stay away from the carbonated stuff for a while, just to be safe.”

“In fact, you should to stay away from all pepper,” says Tony seriously. “Peppercorn sauce, red peppers, Pepper Potts – _especially_ Pepper Potts. _Just_ to be safe.”

Thor straightens, concerned. “So I may not attend movie nights where she is present for a time?” He asks, and his tone is so troubled and sincere, Tony almost can’t keep a straight face.

Bruce chuckles and Clint is the one who takes pity on Thor.

“He’s just messing with you, buddy,” he says.

The god is relieved, but shoots another glare Tony’s way, who laughs and tosses another wad of paper.

 

* * *

 

It was easy to keep a lid on the secret, since only the members of the team knew about Thor’s odd weakness. Until one night, when they are out for drinks and some excited bar patrons come over wanting autographs and pictures. They insist on thanking them afterwards with a round of Bandana Shooters – which of course, contain Dr. Pepper.

Thor doesn’t want to refuse, but he can’t very well drink the shot and be reduced to a quivering mess, either.

“Here, allow me,” says Tony smoothly, grabbing the shot glass. “I know how Dr. Pepper – ”

Steve shoots him a warning glance.

“ – doesn’t agree with you.” Tony finishes without missing a beat.

The comment was innocent enough to any bystander, but the problem was when one of those bystanders happened to be a raving psychopath with a particular fascination with experimentation and destruction. One who was too observant and just unbalanced enough to assume (or deduce) more than had actually been said about the sugary drink.

 _There’s one in every crowd_ , Phil thinks grimly as he approaches the bunker where Thor is being held. Phil takes down three guards in quick succession – two with a shot from his silenced gun, one with a chop to the neck before he can call in an intruder – and attaches a small scanning device to the keypad on the door.

At least this particular psychopath – one Danny Feiler, with control issues, daddy issues, eight unpaid parking tickets and a couple moderate felonies several years back – had made it a bit of a challenge to track him and his captive down, even if the bunker itself was proving to be far less of one. Too often Phil finds himself tracking down low-level criminals who are terrible at covering their tracks or doing anything original.

The keypad gives a soft _beep_ and Coulson pulls open the heavy metallic door. He motions briefly over his shoulder to the handful of men that make up his extraction team to follow as he enters the darkened building. Frankly, Phil has easily managed worse situations on his own with no backup (in fact, he prefers to), but he has no idea what state Thor will be in when he finds him. He needs to be prepared for any possibility. He feels a cold anger swirling in his chest at the type of people stupid enough to put his team in situations like this.

Phil calmly dispatches another guard and continues down the hall.

There is little resistance as Phil and the team make their way through the maze of dingy corridors, and it isn’t long before they locate the lab where Fieler is holding Thor. They burst into the room, startling the twitchy man with the sunken cheeks who is furiously typing on a computer. Beside him, strapped into a massive chair, is Thor.

His skin is pale and sickly, his eyes dull and unfocused, tubes snaking out from his arms, legs and mouth. It’s clear from the sizable containers on either side of him filled with brown liquid that the substance being pumped into him is Dr. Pepper. If one cup of the stuff during pizza night had reduced him to mush, Coulson can’t imagine how much damage has been done with litres of it being pumped into him.

“Put your hands up and step away from the computer, please.” Coulson says coolly, levelling his gun at Fieler.

For a moment Fieler looks angry at the prospect of being captured, but when the rest of the extraction team cock their weapons, the man’s already pale face drains of color and he raises his shaking hands in surrender. Coulson smiles. It’s always nice when the psychopaths give up easy – in his experience, it tends to be a toss-up between them going completely batshit crazy or simply rolling over and accepting defeat now that their plan has been foiled.

Of course, there’s always the ones that only _pretend_ to surrender before losing their heads. He particularly dislikes those ones.

Fieler kicks the console over and drops behind it as some sort of a smoke bomb goes off. Coulson covers his eyes and mouth as his team hurries forward, trying to track and corner Fieler without hitting Thor. Coulson swiftly unfolds his SHIELD-issue gas mask from inside his coat pocket and puts it on. He never leaves home without it, for occasions just like these.

Fieler is hollering and spluttering curses from beyond the smoke, loosing round after round of gunfire, trying to skirt around them in the large room and make a break for the exit. Coulson stays alert and shifts his focus to reaching Thor, trusting his team to deal with Fieler. He spots a switch on the wall behind the console Fieler knocked over helpfully labelled ‘ _Fan’_ and gives it a flick. In the few seconds it takes for Coulson to reach Thor, the fans in the ceiling rapidly dispel the remaining smoke.

Phil glances briefly over his shoulder as Fieler gives a particularly loud wail and sees his team has Fieler surrounded and are moving in to arrest him. Phil takes off his gas mask, turning back to Thor, and gently removes the thick tube protruding from the other man’s mouth.

“Son of Coul,” he croaks once the tube is out. His voice is horribly feeble, his blue eyes exhausted and pained. “I was growing certain I was to perish here.”

Coulson extracts the various tubes and needles from the demi-god’s arms, a smile playing on his lips despite his anger at what Fieler has done. “I wouldn’t let you perish, sir. You’re an essential part of the team.”

He puts his arm around Thor’s back and tries to help him stand, but Thor immediately collapses, falling to his knees and trembling all over. It’s more than a little upsetting to see him so fragile, and Phil refuses to give thought to what could have happened if he’d gotten here any later. He isn’t the type to dwell on _what ifs_.

“I fear I… am unable… to walk.” Thor mumbles with effort, sweat breaking out his forehead, his whole body quivering.

Phil kneels beside Thor and squeezes his shoulder gently. Looking to a few of his men, he nods and they come over, each taking an arm.

“That’s why I brought help.”  Phil assures him, and together they manage to lever Thor upright. The agents begin moving him towards the exit and the waiting helicopter, one shaky step at a time.

Fieler strains against the agents holding him and Phil turns, narrows his eyes. Fieler glares back, defiantly lifting his chin, and starts to speak. An open-handed strike to his throat leaves him choking for breath instead and he sags between his captors, wheezing and sputtering. Phil can’t help feeling a sliver of satisfaction at the sight, and smiles, gesturing for his team to take him away.

“No need to be gentle with him.”

Phil takes his seat next to Thor’s stretcher and the god reaches out weakly to clasp the agent’s hand. Phil smiles again and the helicopter lifts off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the Beta Branch guys and gals for smoothing this out. And thank you for the kudos, and especially comments! I appreciate them all very, very much!! :D

_IV. Clint & Natasha_

Coulson is in the middle of writing up a report on his latest mission when he is called to the command center. He logs off his computer at once and hastens to SHIELD’s hub, where he finds Director Fury pouring over a number of maps.

“Agent Coulson,” he greets with a slight nod, then gestures for Phil to follow him. They go to a more isolated room away from the other officers and Phil knows it must be bad. Fury only uses this room when he is about to reveal something very serious indeed.

“Who is it?” Phil asks the moment the door clicks shut.

“Romanoff and Barton.”

Fury proceeds to explain the situation, handing Phil a condensed top secret briefing packet.

Clint and Natasha have been in deep cover for almost three weeks, tracking and working to dismantle a terrorist cell in the southern part of Bosnia. They had checked in periodically if not terribly consistently since they began the mission, but were supposed to have checked in more than 48 hours ago.

After 24 hours went by without word, it had been worrying, but not a major concern. Fury knew how unstable the circumstances surrounding the mission were, and knew one of them would be in contact as soon as they were able. Still, it wasn’t like either of them to miss a checkpoint by more than a day, even in such a touchy climate.

Around the time that Fury upgraded the level of worry over their absence from moderate to serious, they received word that an intense civil war had broken out in the area where the agents and their very limited back-up were supposed to be stationed. The icing on the proverbial cake: no one is getting in or out, and they have no idea just how bad it is… or if they are even still alive.

Make that level of worry _extremely serious._

“Because of the nature of this civil war, we can’t send a team in. We can’t send anything in,” says Fury. “Officially.”

Phil raises his eyes from the briefing packet to the director.

“Officially, I can’t offer you any support if you were to go in and extract Agents Barton and Romanoff. Officially, we’re letting the military deal with the situation and get as many people out of the warzone as they can.” Fury clasps his hands behind his back and tilts his head chin down a touch. “Officially, you’re on a black ops mission in Jakarta.”

This isn’t the first time Phil has been sent on a semi-impossible mission that doesn’t technically exist on the record, or even the first time in a long time. That’s if he doesn’t count the issue in Liberia last week, or the raid in Columbia the month before. Or the suicide mission to Bangladesh before that.

“I see.” Phil nods. “Officially, sir, if I don’t hurry, I’m going to miss my plane.”

 

* * *

 

The only good thing about flying into a warzone, Coulson supposes, is that there are always mercenaries willing to take you if the price is right. A trip to a seedy bar by the border and a few surreptitious conversations later, he is put in contact with Edim Vlosnik. He’s the type of man who has resources, experience with “uneasy” situations, and doesn’t ask too many questions. The type of man who’s willing to do just about anything for the right amount of money, which Phil readily offers.

Coulson jumps out of Vlosnik’s small but sturdy helicopter just as it touches the ground and he takes off immediately at a hard run. He has a lot of ground to cover in a very limited amount of time. Though Vlosnik has landed on the outskirts of the small town, the helicopter has surely not gone unnoticed.

Within the town, it is chaos: explosions, gun fire, screaming and wailing, debris, burning buildings, smoke and ash, bodies... It saddens him to see the loss of life and the turmoil, but he can’t spare the time to dwell on it. He isn’t about to join the ranks of the dead and there is nothing he can do – he has a mission.

As he darts down street after street, often having to duck in doorways or change directions, he wonders how the hell he is supposed to find them in the midst of all this. And that is providing they are even still alive. Then he rounds a corner and spots it: a rough, spray painted version of SHIELD’s eagle symbol. To any regular passerby, it simply looks like one piece of graffiti amongst all the rest; a gang symbol perhaps. But to him, it’s a signal. One he is thankful they established all those years ago in Nagoya: _We’re here._

Coulson rushes inside, guns out, senses on high alert. He searches for any further sign of the agents, and watches out for hostiles. The building is deceptively large. He checks burned out room after bullet-riddled room, picks his way down hallway after rubble-strewn hallway. Twice, he finds others also searching the building, and they attempt (unsuccessfully) to kill him. Finally he locates the agents, holed up behind a number of desks, in a room that is as blackened and destroyed as the rest.

Romanoff probably would have taken his head off if he hadn’t announced himself first.

“Agent Romanoff,” he calls in the doorway, entering cautiously. “Heard you were in a bit of trouble.”

She pokes her head barely above the makeshift barricade, and even from across the room he can see the relief flooding through her. She keeps her tone casual and indifferent, however, when she replies.

“No trouble. We just liked it here so much, we didn’t want to leave.”

This is what they all do: no matter how dangerous, unwinnable or volatile the situation, they act like it is no big deal. It’s the standard coping mechanism, he supposes. Compartmentalizing the fear and saving it for later; there is no place for it in the middle of a battle like this. So instead they are flippant, and they joke. They try to survive.

As Phil joins her behind the overturned desks, he immediately sees why the pair have not made it to a better location for extraction. Clint is sickly, deep shadows pooled under eyes full of pain. His left leg is badly injured and covered with temporary bandages, which are soaked through and filthy. His sweaty face is caked with dirt and dried blood. There’s a deep gash above his ear that stretches up onto his forehead. His usual quiver of arrows is nowhere to be seen, though he is managing to hold up a gun. Coulson can’t help thinking that’s impressive given the condition Clint appears to be in.

“Nice of you to join us,” the archer says with a bit of a wry smile.

“I was in the neighborhood.” Phil replies casually.

Natasha isn’t nearly as bad off as her partner, though she is cradling her arm. She has a number of painful looking scrapes and gashes across her body, her uniform grimy and tattered. She clearly hasn’t slept in several days either. There is a pained wheeze in the corner which makes Coulson turn. He sees one of the SHIELD agents that had been Clint and Natasha’s back-up laying there, bloody and unmoving except the occasional scraping breath.

“He’s the only one…” she begins, trails off, tries again. “We couldn’t save him either.”

So the other agents are dead. Once again, Phil doesn’t have the time to spare to mourn and once again, there is nothing he can do. He has his mission: get Barton, Romanoff, and any living agents out. Based on the fainter and fainter noises coming from the downed agent, he is almost gone.

Phil briefly presses his lips together in a thin line then faces Natasha.

“I don’t suppose you’re ready to go home?” he asks mildly.

A round of gunfire blasts over their heads and he ducks behind the barricade with the two assassins. Coulson and Natasha immediately return fire.

“Right now?” Clint manages, then coughs hard, pain creasing his features. When he recovers, he adds, “But we’re having so much fun.”

The remaining shooters that are still alive drop out of sight.

“Sorry,” Phil almost smirks. “Fury’s orders.”

“Well,” says Natasha. “If you insist.”

She reloads her gun with some measure of difficulty because of her injured arm while Coulson helps Barton to his unsteady feet. Phil leads the way, supporting Clint, and Natasha covers their back. Though Barton’s aim is significantly off from his usual standard, he still manages to hit nearly everything he shoots at. The explosions are closer and louder when the trio make it out to the streets and Phil has to yell above the din.

“This way!”

It takes far longer than he would’ve liked to make it out of the town, but the goal was to get out in one piece more than anything. Vlosnik is still waiting, as promised, though he looks harried and edgy. The moment Phil is within earshot, the man starts yelling in Russian about bombs and how this is way more than what he signed up for. Phil promises to add a significant bonus to that paycheque Vlosnik will be getting if he will shut up and _fly the damn copter._

When they are finally in the air and speeding away from the danger below, Clint turns to Coulson.

“I owe you one,” he says.

Coulson’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I think it’s more like ten at this point, but, who’s counting.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the kudos and comments, and thanks again to the Beta Branchers for the edits! I hope you enjoy - unfortunately, this is the last Saving Them chapter... but next up will be Them Saving Him. ;D

_V. Steve_

It is the one day in probably the last five and a half months in which Phil not only has had a full night's sleep, but also the morning off. A small break from missions, no new emergency or crisis, and most of the Avengers team are off doing their own thing – a couple of them on missions, others simply enjoying some rare down time.

He knew it was too good to last. He is not at all surprised when he receives a call from Fury.

"Boss, you know this is the only morning I've had off since – "

"It's Captain Rogers. He's missing."

Phil straightens, listening even more intently.

"As you know, he has been on a minor leave."

 _Vacation,_ thinks Phil with amusement. Sometimes he wonders if Fury even knows what that word means.

"He was supposed to have reported in this morning to go on a recon mission. There was no reason to panic until we learned that he never _went_ on his leave – no one has seen him or heard from him for more than a week."

Phil is not one to be paranoid. After several days when Captain Rogers hadn't returned his phone message about arranging a time for poker lessons, he wasn't worried. Steve is still trying to grow used to all the technology available to him, so it was easy to assume he never received the message. Besides that, Steve was supposed to be out and about, exploring, maybe in New York or perhaps out of state. He hadn't decided yet what he would do with his leave when Phil had last chatted with him at one of Stark's movie nights with the team. It was, however, extremely unlike Steve to be even minutes late to the base when he was supposed to leave for a mission.

"To make matters worse, we have almost no intelligence on this," Fury continues. "We don't know exactly when he went missing or where. He could be overseas by now." The part he doesn't say but they are both thinking: _Or even dead._

It is very real possibility, but one Phil isn't ready to dwell on unless it became a reality.

"I would assemble a team for you, but I know they'll only slow you down," says the director.

"I appreciate it, sir," Phil replies. Besides, they both know that getting together a team means going through official channels, which means delaying any sort of rescue mission, and time is of the essence.

"Report back the moment you have something."

"Yes sir."

* * *

It doesn't take too long to track the kidnapper down. Well, it's long by Coulson's personal standards. He decides he needs to be quicker next time, though he always fruitlessly hopes there won't _be_ a next time when it comes to this kind of thing. He starts by retracing the captain's steps as best he can, finding some ticket stubs and receipts in Steve's modest apartment (where, Phil notes, there are signs of a struggle that have been carefully cleaned up, though not carefully enough). He rounds up security camera footage from various parts of the city and soon he has a lead.

Flirt with the right girl (very often a waitress or a stripper), bend the right arm, hack the odd database and it isn't too difficult to track down lowlifes like Lars Blomfield – part mobster, part scientist, all parts crazy, rich bad guy. Blomfield made the classic mistake of purchasing the old, abandoned small military outpost where he did his dirty work under a previously known alias. Eight of the twelve Louis Vickers in the mid-west couldn't afford the base according to their bank records. Of the remaining four, only one also made large purchases of chemicals and miscellaneous equipment from hardware distributors and specialty places in the state of Nevada.

After that, it is only a matter of getting there. Coulson borrows a jet, calls Fury to fill him in on what he's found out, and is in Nevada by the late evening the day after the director assigned him to locate the captain. He stops by a SHIELD outpost for weapons and a vehicle before making his way across the desert to where Blomfield's complex is located.

A few miles away, he stops to assess the blueprints he's procured of the base. He familiarizes himself with the layout and decides how best to approach it. It is only two levels, the largest room situated in the middle of the main level – Phil bets that is where he will find Captain Rogers. He flips some switches to put the armoured car into Stealth mode, causing any intrusion sensors to harmlessly glance off the reflective plating, and muffling the engine so it will be difficult to hear until he pulls up twenty or thirty feet from the front door.

Probably because it is almost the middle of the night, and because of the precautions he's taken with his vehicle, Coulson is not surprised to see only a trio of sentries at the remote location to greet him. They look alert, surely having heard something and spotted a moving shadow in the dark, but (typically) they haven't raised the alarm until they investigate.

Phil shakes his head with a touch of amusement. It continually amazes him how poorly prepared men like Lars tend to be when they think their hide-outs are good enough, confident in their own cleverness and ability to cover their tracks.

Phil exits his armoured vehicle and darts between the shallow pools of light coming from the handful of lights adorning the walls and shining out into the desert. It is only a matter of minutes before all three sentries are down, their unconscious bodies hidden beneath one of the nearby trucks. The handful of night guards inside are dispatched just as quickly and quietly, though Coulson knows it won't be long before someone notices their disappearance and realizes someone uninvited is in the building.

Phil rounds the corner which puts him directly across from the main room. It is full of at least fifty men, most armed, though thankfully their backs are to the open door. It seems to be some sort of briefing, and Phil quickly ducks out of sight, considering his next move.

 _Or perhaps sooner rather than later,_ he thinks grimly. _Not so ill-prepared as I thought._

On one hand, they are all in one room, and momentarily occupied, which could be handy. On the other, the stairs that lead to the upper level are located after a long hallway at the far end of that same room. While Phil knows he's good, he's fairly certain he shouldn't attempt trying to take on all fifty-something men at once by himself.

 _Plan B,_ he thinks and back-tracks swiftly to a room full of chemicals he passed earlier. He snatches up a bucket and some supplies then hastens outside, purposely leaving puddles and trails of the toxic and flammable stuff as he goes.

He retrieves one of the sentries he previously knocked out and strips him of his uniform, slipping the outfit on over his suit. Helmet in place and gun in hand, Coulson makes his way to the far side of the building. There he deftly mixes up a cocktail of chemicals in the bucket he grabbed, tossing in a cloth and moments later, walks calmly into the back of the room full of other uniformed men. No one even glances his way.

When a loud _boom_ goes off a second and a half later, the briefing is immediately ended and a number of men are sent to investigate, fanning out in different directions. Alarms start going off and more men are hastily dispatched. In the middle of the ensuing chaos as a handful of smaller explosions erupt in the distance, Coulson makes for the corridor leading to the stairs and sheds the uniform.

The upper level, he finds, is almost entirely one giant laboratory, though devoid of workers, all the supplies and tables pushed to the side.

 _Why is it always a lab?_ Coulson thinks with irritation. He spots the captain in the center of the room.

It's bad: Steve is lashed onto a massive metal surface that is raised and angled, not quite completely upright. He is covered in dark bruises and deep, ugly gashes of different sizes and in various states of healing. There is a tube going into his neck full of clear, gooey liquid, and his mouth is obscured by a small mask that Phil doubts is giving the captain oxygen. Steve is pale and unmoving, and Phil refuses to think the worst – not yet. Although, he's not sure it can get much worse than what he is seeing.

 _Oh Captain…_ Phil rushes forward. He surmises that they had been experimenting with Steve's super human strength and healing abilities, and turns his eyes away from the long table covered in freshly cleaned knives and sinister-looking devices. He has to forcibly quell the flare of anger he feels rising in him. There is no time for emotion to get in his way, he needs to get the job done and get out.

Phil makes short work of the straps holding down the captain and swiftly removes the mask and the tube piping the clear liquid into a crude hole at the base of the captain's neck. It's no easy task to get the captain down and laying on the floor, but Phil manages as carefully as he can.

Next, he struggles to find a pulse – it's weak. Phil feels sick as he surveys the numerous injuries that cover the captain's body, wondering what the other man has gone through and what he has experienced that left him in such a horrible state, though the tools and vials everywhere leave little to the imagination. He wishes he never had to see his hero like this, so broken and marred. But he is gladder than he can ever admit that he is here to get Steve the hell out of here, and wishes he could have gotten here sooner.

"Captain Rogers," Phil says softly, placing his hand gently on Steve's shoulder, careful not to aggravate the injuries there. "Sir, can you hear me?"

His skin is too cool to the touch, but Phil feels him stir. Relief blooms in his chest. He tries again, and this time Steve groans, slowly fighting to come out of the drug-induced haze he was in. Phil pulls a small flask of water from his coat pocket and gingerly tips Steve's head forward, helping him take a few sips. Steve coughs and splutters at first but then swallows and begins to look a little more alert.

"Where am I?" he croaks with effort, still having difficulty focusing, especially with his left eye which is nearly swollen shut. "What's…?"

"Sir, it's Coulson. You were taken."

Steve tries to sit up, wincing and clenching his teeth. Phil helps him, and presses his lips into a hard, thin line as he notices deep lashes from a barbed whip crisscrossing the captain's back.

He is going to fucking burn this place to ground.

"Where…"

Somewhere nearby, a loud, clanging alarm starts going off. Those extra minutes Phil has bought with his diversion are over.

"I can explain more on the way, but we need to leave now."

Steve almost nods then grabs his head, dizzy and pained. Phil has him drink some more water from the flask, then slowly pulls the captain to his feet, taking almost his full weight.

"Permission to rescue you, sir." He says with a little smile.

Steve can't help but chuckle, though it clearly makes his ribs hurt. "Do you… see anyone else… lining up for… the job?"

Phil cocks his gun and half-carries Steve out of the lab. He gives the door to the lab a mighty kick to smash it open, and begins firing the moment they are in the hallway. He's been in too many tough situations to count, been on so many extractions and rescue missions that very few are unique at this point, and he is generally not a terribly emotional person nor a cold-blooded killer. Perhaps it is the fact that Captain Rogers is his personal hero, maybe it is the level of horror that the lab has inflicted on Steve, the feeling that this is _the last straw_ or maybe a combination and more. Whatever it is, Coulson is in no mood to show any mercy.

Not this time.

They make it down the stairs without incident, though slowly because of the captain's condition. As uniformed men pour down the corridor, Phil props Steve up in a slight alcove and charges forward, gun in each hand, _bam bam bam_. Enemies drop with each shot, and he almost doesn't pause when he needs to reload, simply tosses both guns aside and draws his back-up pair from his belt beneath his suit jacket. As the last dozen or so men retreat to regroup, stunned that they are being overwhelmed by one man, Phil goes back for Steve. They hobble as fast as they can towards the exit.

Steve is panting and sweating, fighting to stay conscious and on his feet, when they make it outside. Though it isn't terribly far to the armoured vehicle Phil has waiting, it seems like miles in Steve's condition. They duck down behind a palette of crates as heavy gunfire erupts around them, blocking their way. Once again, Phil wastes no time in reloading and promptly takes off at a run, drawing fire away from Steve and annihilating his targets.

The men with machine guns on the roof: down. The three trying to block access to the car: down. The four that come running around the side of the building: down.

"Almost there, Captain," says Coulson when he has returned to Steve.

They hurry to the vehicle and he manages to get Steve into the backseat before gunfire begins peppering the metal plating.

Phil presses his gun into Steve's hand. "If anyone starts coming, you shoot and you keep shooting."

"Where are you going?" the injured man slurs.

"I forgot something."

Out of the back of the vehicle, Phil retrieves a massive weapon that resembles a bazooka or a rocket launcher. He strides forward purposefully, his eyes blazing. He can feel the bullets streaking past, crackling in the air around him. Based on a fairly consistent margin of error based on their obvious training, he only has to alter his course slightly here and there to avoid their shots. He heaves the giant weapon on his shoulder, takes aim, and _lets 'er rip._

Large missile-like projectiles scream out of the weapon, splitting in mid-air and colliding with massive force into the building. A wave of heat from the ensuing explosion blasts past the agent, but he doesn't move. He shoots again, sending round after round at the base, and huge fireballs light up the night sky. The whole building is on fire now, and enemies who have survived the first few blasts are trying to find some semblance of cover. Coulson lets off two more rounds, emptying the gun, and calmly heads back to the vehicle. A number of explosions thunder behind him – the fire reached the chemical room – and he knows that by tomorrow morning, the entire complex will be little more than smoking ashes and debris.

"Wow," Steve breathes, as Phil replaces the weapon in the back. "Where can I get one of those?"

The agent smiles and climbs into the driver's seat, removing his jacket. He hands it to Steve, as well as a thick blanket from under the passenger's seat, and the captain thanks him earnestly.

"And for the rescue," he adds as they rumble away from the blazing complex.

"It's no problem, sir," says Phil. "Besides, I still owe you that poker lesson."

Steve manages a smile in return before closing his eyes and dozing off, using Coulson's coat as a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little moment of head canon here, from myself and inkspire (which hopefully someday we will fic about). Phil is like world-record good at poker, but he doesn't let on. Steve unintentionally finds out one day but keeps it a secret and later after chatting with Phil about it, Phil agrees to give Steve poker lessons. Steve is decent at the game, he just wants to beat Tony. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys and gals, this is unfortunately the last chapter. Thanks once again to the Beta Branch peeps for spotting my mistakes. This chapter is full of pheels, so I hope you're ready. ;) Thanks again, and enjoy!

_VI. And One Time They Saved Him_

" _Sorry boss, the guy rabbitted."_

" _Stay awake. Eyes on me."_

" _No, I'm clocking out here…"_

" _Not an option."_

" _It's okay, boss. This was never gonna work. Unless they had something… to…"_

* * *

The day after the attack on New York, the Avengers are summoned to SHIELD headquarters. Tony complains loudly the whole way, whining that this was supposed to be their day off and couldn't they for love of God, _rest_?

"You know Fury," Clint grumbles. "There's always something."

"Didn't sound like a new mission," remarks Steve. "All he said was that we were needed."

"That's code for 'new mission'." Natasha smirks a little.

The team walk down the various corridors of SHIELD behind Maria Hill moments after they arrive. Their pace is slow since Clint is on crutches with an injured leg, and the rest of them are variously bandaged, recovering and sore. By the time they reach what feels like the room as far away as physically possible from the front entrance, six levels underground, Tony isn't the only mumbling curses under his breath.

Hill gives the director, who is waiting for them, a curt nod and heads away.

Fury doesn't bother with courtesies and greetings, simply gets immediately to the point. "I needed Captain Rogers specifically today, but I figured the rest of you would need to be here as well."

The team exchange curious and confused glances.

"What is it, sir?" Steve steps forward.

Fury casts a wary glance at Banner, then gestures to the open door on his right. Steve looks through and he freezes. He inhales sharply in shock, then snaps his jaw shut and whirls on the director. His fists are shaking and white-knuckled at his sides.

"You said he was dead."

Clint feels his stomach drop. Natasha uncrosses her arms. Thor glances at the others.

"Who?" asks Bruce.

Steve faces the team. "Coulson."

A ripple of shock, closely followed by anger and betrayal floods through the team. They all start speaking and shouting at once.

"He's not dead?"

"What the hell – ?"

"Is he in there?"

"What happened?"

"You _bastard_ – "

Bruce is the one person on the team who barely had any interaction with Coulson, and while the Hulk stirs in the scientist on behalf of his team, Banner holds on and keeps the Other Guy at bay. He wasn't there when Loki murdered the agent, but he knows the details from the others who were. He's willing to hear the director's explanation, but it had better be a damn good one.

Fury stands calmly by, rooted to the spot, hands clasped behind his back, patiently waiting them out. After a good thirty seconds of the yelling, he holds up a hand. "If I can explain. If I can _explain._ "

"You sure as hell better," Tony says hotly.

Fury barely raises his own voice and tries again. "If you'll all remain calm for ten seconds."

"I'm calm," Clint replies, his tone dry and edgy. "Who's not calm? Bruce? How's the Other Guy?"

"Holding," the scientist says evenly. "For now."

"Speak swiftly," Thor growls at the director.

"You _said_ he was _dead_." Steve repeats. His face is flushed with anger.

"I said he was gone." Fury clarifies.

"No, later, you said he _died_ believing – "

"He _did_ die."

"Then how the hell is he in that room, alive in a hospital bed?" yells Steve, pointing through the open doorway.

"Captain, medically, he did die." Fury states. "His heart stopped for ten minutes. They were able to resuscitate him after that. It wasn't a lie, it simply wasn't the whole truth."

"And you're good at spinning the truth, aren't you?" Tony snaps, his tone dangerous, eyes flashing.

Fury lifts his chin. "If you think I should be sorry for assembling the greatest team this world has ever seen by leaving out a key piece of information, you are sorely mistaken."

"And if you think I'm ever going to trust another god damn word out of your mouth, then _you_ are fucking _mistaken_." Tony jabs his finger at Fury's chest. "You _completely_ manipulated me. _Us._ "

"You needed something to lose, something to glue you together like nothing else would. Loss, unfortunately, is very good for that."

Tony raises his fist, but Thor restrains him just in time. "Coming to blows will solve nothing, Man of Iron."

"But I'm pretty sure we'd all feel better," Steve spits out and Clint grunts in agreement.

The god lets go of his grip on Tony. Bruce places a gentle, restraining hand on Tony's shoulder, pulling him back a few steps. Even Natasha, who is more familiar with Fury's methods than the rest of them, looks icy and pissed.

"You can be as angry as you like," says Fury, unconcerned by the heated glares and threatening body language coming at him from every angle. "The fact remains that you needed the push. Call it a lie or manipulation, call it whatever the hell you want. You were at each other's throats and it's too bad you feel blindsided, but it was necessary. That _bond_ was necessary."

The air is thick with tension and silence. None of them trust their voices or that they won't say something they'll regret, so they hold back and Fury continues.

"I'm not in the habit of being underhanded, contrary to popular belief, but you needed this – the _world_ , needed this." He pauses, looks at them in turn. "Needed _you_. Who the hell knows what would be happening right now if I _had_ told you every piece of the truth."

This doesn't make them less angry or feel much less betrayed, but somewhere, somehow his words still get through. It still wasn't right that they were led to believe Phil Coulson was dead, wasn't right that they had to grieve for him and were forced to come together through lies. But in the end, does it make what they accomplished any less amazing? Does it make the bonds they forged less permanent? Any less real? The world any "less saved" because Fury lied to them?

Fury feels it's safe to continue again a couple moments later. "When Captain Rogers was pulled from the ice, we tried to figure out how the hell he had survived. We took some blood samples and studied them, and learned about his healing capabilities." He glances at Steve, then turns back to the others. "The medics took Agent Coulson into surgery immediately. He was crashing; we were losing him. We technically _did_ lose him. As a last ditch effort, they used the last pack of the captain's blood we had stored for testing. We gave him a transfusion."

The betrayal is still fresh, but the team allows their focus shift from being pissed at Fury to worried for Coulson.

"The healing properties helped; it was enough to bring him back from the edge. But it wasn't enough to bring him out of it." Fury went on and gestures briefly to the room where Coulson is. "He's been in a coma ever since. We're hoping that with a little more of Captain Rogers' blood, Agent Coulson will be able to heal enough to wake and make a full recovery." To Steve, the director adds, "With your permission."

"Of course," the captain says without hesitation.

"You don't want to just take it?" Tony snaps. "Maybe manipulate us first? Brainwash us or flat out lie? Just seems more your style."

"Stark…"

"No, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. The spy of spies screwed with our heads and went behind our backs to make us work together. I get it."

"Would you have worked together if I hadn't?" Fury retorts, only now showing signs of irritation.

Tony opens his mouth to argue, but unfortunately they all know the truth, unpleasant though it may be.

"It was my card to play," Fury says firmly. "My _last_ card. And by coming together as a real _team_ , you stopped an alien invasion, captured a genocidal god, saved the goddamn world, and by extension, the life of a man who is very important not just to you, but to this agency, and to _me._

"Phil Coulson is the best damn agent I've ever had, and he's saved our asses countless times. I would like for him to be able to continue to do so. And it's thanks to _you_ that he will be able to. It's thanks to all of _you_ that any of us will be able to continue to make the world a safer place."

Silence descends again as the others digest the director's statements. They're not ready to forgive him and he doesn't expect them to. In fact, this is big enough that he imagines they'll all hold a grudge against him on a certain level for a long time to come. That's going to be hell to deal with, but right now he believes it will be worth it. His best agent is alive, and the team that no one believed in (not even themselves) _saved_ the _world_. He wishes he could stress to them just how monumental that is, but based on the look on Captain Rogers' face, they're finally getting that.

The director nods to the room. "You're free to go in and see him. Stay as long as you want. Rogers, I'll talk to the doctor about getting your blood into Coulson. Thor, when you're ready, I need to see you about what the next step is with Loki and the Tesseract."

Steve nods in understanding and heads into the room first, followed closely by Natasha and Clint. Tony shoots Fury an ice cold glare, barely biting back a number of colorful things he'd still like to say (and do), while Bruce hangs back, to let those who knew Coulson better go first. Thor opts to go with Fury now and come back later to visit the agent so he's not overcrowded.

"If my blood will assist in any way as well, I would gladly give it," the god says as he falls into step with the director. In a lower, much more dangerous voice, Thor adds, "And if you spread falsehoods of this nature again, I _swear_ there will be retribution."

Fury almost smiles. "There won't be a need for it."

* * *

Phil is surprised to discover that he's not dead.

The room around him slowly comes into focus: it's plain and unremarkable, but clean and bright. Tony is seated at a table on the far side of the room, headphones in his ears and papers spread before him. Steve is sitting with him, book in hand.

Phil recognizes the room as one of SHIELD's medical recovery rooms. There is an oxygen mask on his face and various wires and tubes trailing from his limbs. He's too sore and groggy to move, but he sort of croaks and then he sees Natasha's face hover above him.

She cracks a rare smile. "Welcome back, Coulson."

The corners of Phil's lips turn up in return.

Then Clint is there, looking haggard from lack of sleep but relieved. "Hey buddy," he says. "We won."

Thor and Bruce show up at the foot of Phil's bed, and Steve appears beside Clint. Tony squeezes in beside Natasha, completing the protective ring they've formed around his bed. He's glad to see they all made it out of whatever hell Loki put them through after the helicarrier incident. He wants to ask what happened, but he's so tired…

"Glad you're okay," says Tony.

Phil groans something in agreement and drifts back to sleep.

* * *

The next time Phil wakes, he's much more alert. The oxygen mask is gone, as well as about half the tubes and electrodes. The team is absent, but Fury is in the chair next to the bed, idly flipping through some old magazines.

When Phil stirs, the director looks up.

"They're sending Loki off," Fury says by way of greeting. "Thor is taking him and the Tesseract back to Asgard. I'm on with the Council in an hour. Wanted to check up on you."

Phil struggles to a sitting position, hand pressed over the stitches in his chest. "I was told we won. How did that happen?"

Fury nearly smirks. "I had to tell them you were dead."

Phil raises an eyebrow. "I bet that didn't go over well. Especially with the Big Guy."

"No, it did not," the director admits and leans back in his chair. "But Banner kept him in check." He pauses. "I believe it was worth it."

The agent winces as pain shoots through his chest. "Usually is, sir."

Fury proceeds to brief Coulson on what he missed: the details of the battle and the agent's surgery and condition. Just as the director finishes, Hill appears in the doorway. She hides her surprise at seeing Phil upright and addresses the director first.

"Sir, they've moved the meeting up."

Fury sighs. "Of course they have."

Maria turns her gaze to Phil and purses her lips a little to keep from smiling. "Heard you died."

Phil suppresses a smile of his own. He lifts his chin and replies, "Heard you didn't."

She can't hold that grin back any longer and it lights up her face. He's seen her smile – _really_ smile – so seldom, he can't help considering this a treat. She doesn't add anything else as she backs out of the room and heads out of sight, but she doesn't need to. He knows her well enough to know how relieved she is without voicing it.

The director gets to his feet.

"Sir, seeing as how I was stabbed and essentially died, and the team you semi-manipulated into saving the world indeed saved it," Phil says mildly. "Can I take tomorrow off?"

Fury's barking laughter continues well down the corridor.

Phil takes that as a yes.

_**finis** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to each and every reader for checking this out, kudos-ing and commenting. You guys are the best! Stayed tuned for more Avengers ficcage from me in the future, b/c seriously these characters I CAN'T EVEN. Thanks again!


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